


Sorcerers' Game

by seaofolives



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon Era, Comic Book Science, Comics/Movie Crossover, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Random & Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 14:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: Two sorcerers walk into Hel...





	Sorcerers' Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random post-IW fic written just because I was inspired by the sentence _When you start to notice the mystical, the mystical will start to notice you_ which was just smth that crossed my dash. Just just just.

The first thing that they learn as children of Asgard was that the world they called their home was only one of the nine realms connected to Yggdrasil, the World Tree. As an aspiring sorcerer _and_ eventual king, this was just one aspect of his existence that he would soon learn to appreciate, partly because of the beauty of it but mostly for the realms’ use to him. But if there was one thing he hated about the nine realms, it was how _every. Single. Part of it._ Seemed to be steeped in Odinforce.

For the hundredth time since he sank into the seemingly unbreachable darkness, a searing lightning sparked between his fingers and the stone, the rings which he moved like a dial resetting themselves in a rumbling haste. Not for the last time, Loki pulled back, hissed and waved his sore hand while he hissed out a very indignant, “Shit!” At the rate that he was going, he figured the whole universe would probably be already at its third Ragnarok and he would be nowhere near his goal. His skin felt burnt and raw and it was _cold_ besides—not the kind that the jotnar and therefore he was born into but the kind of seeping chill which could only come from the frosty crypts of Niflheim. Or, well, death.

“Listen here, you stubborn piece of rock,” he snarled at the etched runes on the uneven surface, glaring at it under the green glow of his magical floating baubles while he soothed his fingers with another one of his spells. “I’m not here to steal the horn for some nefarious plan of universal domination, I’m actually here because I want to _help_! Thor’s out there, gathering his own forces but unless he summons the dead, he’s no match for Thanos’ army so for the sake of the nine realms, to which _you_ belong, I’m asking you, as _nicely_ as I can: _please. cooperate_!”

At any other corner of the realm, his impatience might have been translated into echoes that would invite certain interested parties such as spiders and hel-hounds to have a taste of jotun sorcerer flesh. But besides being several leagues deep below Hel’s rocks, he’d taken the time and the much-needed precautions (he so hated spiders) to lay along some traps and false paths to lead any pursuers astray—layers upon layers of illusions, portals, various enchantments that ranged from the vaguely annoying to the potentially deadly.

So there was no way in Hel he would have expected the crack of a scarlet whip on stone, _just_ when he’d been about to turn the first dial. A knife was out of his hand as soon as he’d realized that he was in danger, soaring through the shadows just as he dodged another crack of the whip and whirled to his feet. A pair of swords, drawn as if from firelight, came charging for him next. He threw his hand out for a wild sweep, conjuring a shield.

Everything resolved itself in a clash of gold and emerald. When the darkness returned, Loki guarded himself against it with a long knife in each his hand. Something was out there...no, some _one_ was out there. Unfortunately for him.

His visitor came at him slowly from the distance, materializing with a pair of shields in each his hand, wrought in the same firelight as the swords Loki had broken. He floated—literally—slowly into the sorcerer’s vision, his crimson cloak spread out artfully behind him. 

“When you start to notice the mystical, the mystical will start to notice you,” he began, as if to explain his unwanted presence.

It was a wild goose chase that had started about a month after Thanos had wiped out half the beings in the universe as a sorry excuse for resource management. Loki, under the guise of a magpie, had paid a visit to Midgard to inspect the sordid situation. Given what he’d heard and seen through his own magic, he’d thought he had easily become the only sorcerer left alive. 

He was wrong, of course. He’d been caught under the nosy sorcerer’s radar and ever since, he’d been trying to throw him off his scent, shaking him off his tail with whatever spells, tricks and pranks he knew (even painting that damned cloak a rather garish shade of yellow and purple). Until he’d made it to Hel—and one would have guessed that Hel was a far enough distance from Midgard. Turns out _six feet underground_ wasn’t just some idiomatic expression the Midgardians liked to use. 

Loki groaned heavily. “You know, I don’t know what I have to do, or how I have to tell you to leave. Me. _Alone._ ”

The other sorcerer shrugged and threw a little nod back over his shoulder. “I saw the enchantments.”

“For a self-proclaimed master of the mystic arts, you certainly need a lesson on reading between the lines.”

“You’d be surprised to learn how I decoded your spells, Loki,” Strange replied. “Let’s make one thing clear, chasing you down and staying human was a lot harder than making Wong laugh at your joke. But fortunately for me, your enchantments don’t say anything about turning astral projections to frogs.”

“I should have had you banished to Ginnungagap while I still had the chance,” Loki muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

“So what are you doing here, Loki?” Strange went on, floating closer though still cautiously despite his intangibility. “I thought you were dead?”

“Oh, but am I not dead?” Loki said a little too brightly for a dead person, throwing in a cheerful smile while he was at it. “Did Thanos not snap my neck? Am I not standing here in Hel?”

“You’re about as dead as I am stranded in the Soul Stone,” Strange retorted. “You’re not the only one who knows about illusions and Microverses.”

“So how did you manage to escape the Soul Stone?”

“Tell me your secret and I’ll tell you mine, Trickster,” Strange bartered readily, no beats missed. “On my word and honor as the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.”

“You sure are confident enough to strike a deal with the God of Mischief, Human.” Loki smirked. “Fine!” He threw up his hands. “My secret is that I died. Really.”

“My secret is that I didn’t,” Strange replied. “I just pretended that I died. Like I said, you’re not the only one who knows anything about illusions. I knew what was going to happen. So I followed the game plan.”

Loki began to laugh. “Oh really?” he teased. It sounded about as fantastical as the the sagas he used to read as a child. Well of course he knew what would happen, _of course_ he had a game plan! 

Loki stared at Strange’s expressionless face. “Really?” he asked again. 

But Strange did not answer—only dispersed the shields which he carried in his hands. Loki couldn’t believe it—this madman was telling the truth! 

He scowled; he’d been played with at his own game when he was expecting him to lie to a liar’s face. Unfortunately, being sorcerers, they were both bound to a higher set of rules for no other reason than that they knew how karma could be such a bitch to either god or human. 

“ _Fine_ ,” he muttered through his teeth. “I didn’t die _completely_. It was a part of me that died. Just because it’s magic doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, after all.” After which he felt the compulsion to cough and rub his unscathed neck. 

“So you made yourself a clone,” Strange said, floating closer still to his fellow sorcerer. 

Loki pulled up his cheek to consider the word, eyes up towards the unseen rocks overhead. “I suppose you could put it that way. After all, he had to be real but at the same time…not real. For me to find my way to this particular hel-hole. See, the problem is that no matter how many noble deaths I die, Loki, Prince of Lies, will never be up to Valhalla’s standards.” Here he smirked at the frowning Strange. “So I had to find my own way to Hel.”

“Can't imagine that would be hard for you.” Strange hovered ever closer, and now that he was nearer, Loki could see how he had finally taken interest on the writings on the wall. “And Thor doesn't know?” 

“Do the Avengers know of your game plan?” Loki smiled cheerfully, turning back to his current project, inspecting it himself. “You see, that's the thing about us sorcerers—we're so enigmatic about what we know…that we can’t help but work in secrecy. They think we’re just a mysterious lot full of cryptic words and teasers when they don’t realize…just how _much_ of the whole cosmos rests on our very fragile shoulders.”

“So you’re planning to summon the dead.” The shock was palpable in Strange’s voice, but it wasn’t just for the ghastly idea. No, it wasn’t that he couldn’t believe Loki would go this far, it was more that he couldn’t believe that he’d _never_ thought about this! And…perhaps if the stars and all that is mystical could just align properly…maybe…maybe this could actually _work_. 

A brilliant assessment, if Loki could say so himself. He grinned in approval. “Not me. Thor is.” He reached to touch the inscriptions. “Thanos has an army and my brother needs one of his own, not quite alive though they may be. The good thing about this, though, is that Valhalla would be teeming with scorned warriors waiting for a chance to rip the Mad Titan to pieces.” 

“And just how far along are you?” 

“You mean before you interrupted me?” Loki turned to him just so he could raise his brow and smirk. Strange rolled his eyes. “I still have nine rings left,” he turned back to his work, caressing the aforementioned ninth ring. “If I could just break the code without having this thing zap me and reset, I should have the horn in no time.”

“Then you’re in luck, my friend.” With spinning arms, Strange resolved another one of his seals onto which he propped himself, floating with crossed legs, hands resting with palms up on each knee. “For today, you shall be aided by the Master of the Mystic Arts and the Book of Vishanti.” He closed his eyes. 

“Why, I’m touched, Sir!” Loki chirruped, back to his cheerful self. “Turns out you’re happy to be of more use than a floating curtain.”

Strange cracked an eye open, “Get to work,” and closed it again. 

Loki sighed, chuckling as he shook his head and returned to the rock. “Oh, Stephen. All work and no fun?” His hands flashed green. “With that stick up your arse, Midgard must find a new sorcerer supreme sooner than they realize.” To his defense, he _was_ getting back to work! It just doesn’t mean he had to shut up while he was at it, too. Saving the world was a lonely undertaking, see. Everyone thinks you’re the bad guy when you’re just moving a few pieces in the right place. 

Fortunately for the whole cosmos, they found a god who had the constitution for the burden. Reaching through the darkness, he grasped at the highest ring with his magic, and pulled it with a triumphant grunt, restarting his work.


End file.
